


Outdoors

by QuietDoe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 21:28:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10369827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietDoe/pseuds/QuietDoe
Summary: No matter how many times one experiences loss, the pain never truly subsides.The road stretched evermore, the house is hollow and the garden overgrown. All that remains are the remnants of the previous owners, and their only child without a connection to the Earth.Reoccurring references of death and sad themes. A twist on the typical quirky TF2 law.(Dedicated to lost loved ones. They will be missed dearly, and the many things they have taught me will remain and inspire).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter currently not finished, though there's enough to read so far. Keep this in mind as you proceed.  
> If you're interested, keep an eye for an update.

"Arm up, lil Micky"

Obediently, the muddy boy - now 'Mick' - raised his arm. Giggles and waves flooded the room as he squirmed beneath his father. Suds overflown most of his small frame as his father grunted in dismay, wiping a furrowed brow of sweat.

"Mick, hold still! Ya know ya mum can't wash ya anymore, ya a big boy now!" 

"Jonathan, Mick! Dinner's ready!"

"Ugh... Comin' Love!" Wiping his forehead once more, the man stood. "We'll give ya another wash later." He reminded his son, lifting him out of the tub. With bright eyes, the boy giggled again. Despite being in the bath, He still wore his 'hunting headband' - one specifically made by his mother. A zigzag pattern typical of Native Indians and accompanied by a single proud once-white feather. His brunette hair was of a similar length to his father's albeit ruffled and unkempt. His cheeks still muddy and marked from his wilderness exploring. And although his family didn't share his blood, he always held a strong resemblance to his father. 

 

And God did it hurt.

Along the road, he'd taken at least three detours by now. One for mum, one for dad, one for son. He knew this would happen eventually, yet none of his training or practices could prepare him for this sort of loss. Taking yet another wrong turn, he stared out at the road ahead of him. The day was drawing it's end but the Sun still hung high - it's rays burning bright. The corners of his dry lips twitched, always pointing downward. The world before him - though bright - had nothing else visually to offer. It was a dry and barren wasteland. There was nothing to preoccupy his troubled thoughts. Again, another pointless turn, again another twitch on his lips. It didn't take long after for a single tear to finally break free from his eye and roll ever so slowly down his cheek like a steady car wheel. Rolling down his near barren cheek, only occasionally halting to stubble. What should have been a 20 minute drive had turned into hours, only halting for gas. The journey had no true destination. Physically, the silence filled the air, and for once the radio off. His thoughts weren't as merciful. His professional order had finally toppled over, and not a Spy to witness. Occasionally, his lips parted just enough to let a sigh, mumble or odd hum pass by. 

Still he stared out as the Sun seared his internal wounds. The car mirror had been dangerously tilted away today, just so he didn't have to look at his younger father. Not now. Not today. Not for a long time.

 

Small but heavy footsteps practically threw themselves downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Mick! Where are ya bloody clothes!"

"Jonathan!"

"Uh, sorry Love"

A bubbly laugh escaped Mick as his rear soon thumped on the wooden chair, causing a loud creak. He was dry but nude. 'It's how they did it in the bush!' he explained to his father. Maybe watching the blossoming survival show wasn't the best for a young mind like Mick's. Especially not that Saxton Hale was the host, what with his wild stunts, bare fist animal wrestling and near bare body. Jon smiled only slightly at his son. At least it was something he shared in common with some of the kids his age, maybe he'd finally get some friends at school? An old man like him could hope at least!

(Chapter currently not finished!)


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